


In Time of Silver Rain

by fencer_x



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro comes back to them in the Spring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Time of Silver Rain

_In time of silver rain_  
    When spring  
    And life  
    Are new. 

\--Langston Hughes

* * *

Shiro comes back to them in the Spring.

He doesn't look much changed, but he's let his hair grow a bit longer, wisps curling at the ends cupping his chin and flaring out at his nape, and he's traded the Ashinaka uniform for something decidedly more militaristic--Neko thinks he looks regal and dashing, and Kuroh…well, she doesn't know _what_ Kuroh thinks, but the way the line of tension across his shoulders relaxes just a hair when Shiro lays a hand just at the joint where shoulder blends into neck tells her he couldn't have cared less if Shiro had traipsed into their apartment (little more than what could charitably be called a 'hovel') wearing nothing more than a smile.

Kuroh offers him everything he can--because that's just how Kuroh is: a chair, a cup of tea, something to eat, news of how they've fared these past several long months, and Shiro accepts it all with gentility, letting Neko rest her head in his lap while he strokes her hair, long fingers running through the strands and weeding out tangles, sending shudders of relieved pleasure juddering down her spine. She's _missed_ this. Kuroh gives good ear scratches, but he refuses to do anything unless she's curled up in her kitten form, as otherwise it's--he claims with flushed features-- _indecent_.

"Please forgive the lowly state of our lodgings just now--" Kuroh bites out after he's run out of things to offer, and for the first time, Neko realizes how truly _rough_ they've had it. Neko has rarely had much difficulty in fending for herself, and Kuroh seems more than capable of making a living on his own, but strangely enough, they two and only members of the Silver clan, when thrust together, have only just barely managed to scrape out a space for themselves in a dingy little back corner of Shibuya ward. 

Kuroh works odd hours on the line in a Chinese restaurant near the station--supposedly, he makes a mean fried rice, but Neko has yet to taste it--and Neko whiles away her day between cozying up to the old ladies who live on the corner and napping atop a garden wall abutting an elementary school with staking out the bins behind the local grocer, pilfering what she can of the nearly expired goods tossed out for the garbage trucks to pick up in the mornings.

"Not at all," Shiro offers warmly, glancing around their little 1K with a warm smile. "I'm glad you've managed to keep out of trouble while I was away. You did a wonderful job, the both of you." And at this, Neko can practically _hear_ Kuroh's chest puffing up in pride.

Kuroh scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over the low table that takes up most of the room. "Shall--shall I go fetch something for dinner? I dare say this calls for a feast."

And here, Neko bolts upright, suggestion flying off her lips before she can rein herself in--"Let's go together!" She's already shoving past Kuroh into the kitchen and toeing on the boots Kuroh had bought her a week after they'd lost Shiro, explaining that she needed to start behaving more like a proper clansman and less like a little lost kitten. Neko had resented the chastisement--but secretly concurred.

Shiro, of course, agrees, head bobbing in courteous consent, and when Neko loops her arm around one of his, tugging him forward, he takes up Kuroh's hand in turn.

* * *

Shiro is still with them in the Summer.

Rainy, muggy June gives way to oppressing, sweltering July, and Kuroh makes Shiro accompany him down to the abandoned lot two houses over for, of all things, _kendo_ practice. "A King ought to know how to wield a sword," he reasons simply, and when Shiro tries to remind him that no one's used a sword in battle in decades (Blue clan notwithstanding) and that they can hardly go about with weapons at their hips in modern-day Tokyo besides, Kuroh just cuts him a sharp glance and barks at him to take his stance.

Neko watches, because there's nothing else to do for one thing and because it's terribly amusing for another, and over the next half hour, their King has his ass soundly kicked, bruised and dusty and sweating buckets where he sits on the ground after being tripped and thrown there for the fifth time in as many minutes. Kuroh smiles, in that guarded, hesitant way he always does, before thrusting his hand out and waiting for Shiro to pull himself back up.

They advance again, Shiro wielding a long piece of PVC pipe they found near a garbage heap and Kuroh armed with Kotowari's sheath, and this time Shiro manages to hold his own for three beats before Kuroh ducks a parry and gets in under his guard, right in Shiro's face and already barking a victorious chuckle as he lays the sheath neatly along Shiro's throat and flicks him with a finger across the forehead to send him back down into the dirt.

Shiro puts an end to the practice for the day, enacting a royal decree that all fencing lessons be followed immediately by a quick shower and long soak in the tub, and while neither Neko nor Kuroh are entirely sure that's allowed, they let him have his way. 

After all, he's their King.

They take turns, Kuroh offering Shiro first bath and Shiro in turn offering it to Neko, and she obliges, keeping one ear tuned to the muffled conversation just on the other side of the thin translucent plastic door. Kuroh mutters something she can't catch, but it must have been funny, for Shiro chuckles in genuine amusement, and when she steps out, long locks still dripping water from the ends, she finds Shiro slumped over their low table and lazily watching Kuroh attend to some dishes that have been soaking since that morning. He's wearing the same expression she's always remembered him with whenever he watched Kuroh--captivated and far away, like he's seeing beyond Kuroh into something, someone else, some other time and place. Some other possibility.

He catches her eye on him and tosses back a wink, and her heart flutters in her chest for a moment, setting her to swaying, before she recovers her composure and announces that the bath is free.

* * *

Fall rolls in on a bed of red and gold, and Shiro suggests they buy a _kotatsu_. Neko is _ecstatic_ and Kuroh's brows furrow at the hit their savings will take, but when Shiro confesses dejectedly and with no small amount of wheedling that he's always wanted to sit around a kotatsu with friends and family peeling oranges and watching the new year roll in, Kuroh clears his throat and reminds that his days off are Thursdays and Fridays.

It's a sound investment, Kuroh admits once it's all set up, and they christen it that evening with dinner, a splendid spread demonstrating the leaps and bounds Kuroh's culinary skills have made in the past several months. As their meal settles in their stomach, Kuroh broaches the silence with an innocent query into Shiro's past, wondering what life had been like for the man Adolf and his family in winters past--he's never been to Germany; is it terribly cold there this time of year?

Shiro blinks a few times in rapid succession before his brows knit and he turns his gaze away, confessing awkwardly, "I…don't remember."

Neko holds her breath, watching Kuroh closely, and her chest clenches when he responds slowly, "Oh…I see. My apologies." Shiro waves him off, instead changing the subject to how his parasol needs patching and how does one go about getting a _wagasa_ repaired? Kuroh begins to clear away the table, suggesting they ask the old ladies who live on the corner. Neko sighs in silent relief.

Bedding has never been much of an issue--Neko is by and large content (and more comfortable) curling up into a little ball at the foot of Kuroh's pallet, and Shiro had put his foot down on Day 1 against Kuroh giving up his little patch of floor to his King. Space is at a premium, and there's no reason to waste their limited funds on extra bedding they don't even have the room to accommodate, so when night falls early as it does in autumn and lethargy sets in, they each settle down into their respective positions: Kuroh and Shiro sharing an old but warm blanket and Neko curled at the foot of the makeshift bed.

They'd started off sleeping back to back, Kuroh up flush against the edge of the little pallet as he seemed to struggle to give Shiro as much space as possible--but Shiro had quickly put an end to that, snuggling up close and burying his face in the dark space between Kuroh's neck and the pillow, soft snores muffled just enough to not disturb. Neko had watched them for a while--their shapes outlined stark in the moonlight drifting in through the thin curtains over the one window--before she'd realized she was staring and pointedly looked away, finding sleep altogether too elusive. 

They sleep entwined in one another now, a tangled mess of arms and legs splayed everywhere and sheets in disarray come morning. For all the chaos they're left in with the rising of the sun, though, in the dead of night they're silent and desperate and clinging fast to something Neko still hasn't divined--Kuroh like he never wants to risk losing their King again and Shiro like he's afraid of drifting away. Their breaths mingle in the pockets of space they dare to leave between them now, but never do they speak of this habit in the daylight.

Neko wonders--and worries--about what they speak about at night while she sleeps. Not because she's jealous of whatever it is they share (she's not, she's _not_ \--and if Kuroh only _knew_ how very much she wasn't jealous, he'd probably run her out of the clan, because there are _just some lines you don't cross_ ), but because she wasn't prepared for this, _isn't_ prepared, and it's a very dangerous predicament she's gotten herself into.

* * *

Winter brings chill and dark and unpleasant memories, but Shiro is still there, and Kuroh asks one evening, low and soft where he thinks Neko can't hear, if they shouldn't be doing something _more_ , shouldn't be doing something as a _clan_ , because isn't that what they are now?

Shiro smiles in the darkness, breathing deep and releasing a slow, even breath over Kuroh's collarbone where he's nestled warm and comfortable. "'Course we are. And we're doing something--we're living."

She can hear the frown in Kuroh's voice; can't he _ever_ just be content? Can't he _enjoy_ what he has? What _they_ have? "You're…surely there's work to be done, though. Surely as the Silver King, you…"

Shiro groans softly in irritation, lifting up onto his elbows, frustration evident on his features even in the low light. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Kuroh blinks, perplexed. "…But, that's who you are--Adolf K.--"

"I'm _Shiro_ ," he repeats firmly, shaking his head. "That's all I need to be for you and Neko. Shiro, who runs around laughing like an idiot, always telling lies…that's the sort of guy I am."

"…A man worth risking my life for," Kuroh finishes robotically, but his actions are anything but, and he lifts up onto one elbow and threads his fingers in Shiro's hair, palm broad and flat against the pale skin of Shiro's cheek as he leans forward to gently bring their lips together, dry and innocent but more _real_ than anything else in the past six months. 

Kurosuke can be an idiot sometimes, but in this, at least, Neko feels she's fulfilling the duty her King would’ve asked of her.

She can't be selfish this time; that's not what Shiro would want--so she and Kuroh have to take care of each other now. It's a balanced give and take; Kuroh cooks their meals and scratches her ears in the evening while he pieces through a copy of the _Yomiuri_ a customer left behind at the restaurant, and in return she feeds him sweet, silver-tongued lies upon illusions upon dreams that restore in him that sense of _purpose_ he's grown unable to live without.

He'd surely thank her, if he could only understand. But he doesn't understand, and wouldn't even if she tried to explain, so she just curls up into a tighter ball, giving them all the privacy she can spare, and tries to ignore the way Kuroh settles back down and draws up the coverlet as he slides in close to a body he doesn't know isn't really there.


End file.
